For the Future of Forever
by Psychic City
Summary: The life of Murdoc, 2D, Noodle, and Russel on Plastic Beach from the very beginning to the disastrous end. Please read and review and let me know what you think! :  NOODLE x 2D
1. Plastic Landfill

**Psychic City:** This is going to turn out to be what happens as the band continues life on Plastic Beach, straight up from the beginning, all the way to the curious picture of the shooting pirate jets, with some twists and turns added into it. This first chapter will serve as a sort of prologue. But I've got some ideas for this that I am excited to continue with. Hopefully it gets some attention! ;)

Don't be afraid to send me a review of any kind. Constructive _anything_ is always appreciated.

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**Chapter One:**  
**Plastic Landfill**

Staring over the shore of his putrid, plastic beach, Murdoc Niccals watched the beam of his massive white lighthouse swing playfully over the twinkling shores of washed up rubble. He sat, captain-like, upon the rugged cushions of his large Rivival Chair with his bare feet kicked up and placed at the study before him. His tongue lapped against his dry lips and he inhaled, sucking hard at his cigarette, which smoldered continually inside his mouth. He certainly was proud of himself. The gigantic mass of floating landfill that he had created, it had become nothing more than his own perfect getaway. As peaceful and as isolated as it was, Murdoc's Plastic Beach was his home away from home, his Alternative-Kong. He adored the solidarity and the strangeness; admired the sheer brilliance of its very creation. Like a God, he sat as the watcher; never moving except for the continuous shift of his smoking arm.

Then, caught up in his own personal genius, Murdoc glanced away from the window and the shoreline to consider his outstretched palms. Sure, they were worn, hard and calloused even, but the very hands that he had observed had, in fact, created the magnificent island-masterpiece on their very own. Murdoc remembered fondly of the moment that he had stumbled across the chunk of land. It had been floating in solidarity forever at the point of the ocean that no one had even bothered to look. He had been able to see past its rancid appearance and see the true art that had been hiding there behind it. And all it took was a simple can of neon pink paint. Thus, the island of garbage became perfect- beautiful, even. There it was, Plastic Beach.

At first it had just been him alone, residing on the thing as if his stay there had been merely an account of personal vacation. Sure, he had been on the run from the Pirate Jets that had been relentlessly stalking him, but that certainly had not stopped him from having a merry time. And as a bonus, all the hours he'd spent freely thinking had helped him progress business-wise, as well. Album three, his brain-child, would not only make him even more rich, but additionally even more famous. The long break he had taken away from the music industry had done quite a number on his sanity. He craved the limelight, the media attention, and the women; felt ill at the thought of dying without an even larger legend to his name. He needed a new goal, a new plan of world domination. The third album, that was key; Murdoc Niccals could even smell the indulging scent of it before him. Thus, his idea was undeniable. It had to be done; at that point, not even Murdoc had a choice of otherwise.

Right away, Murdoc set off to work. Though, he had always come across his fair share of setbacks. Once Noodle had disappeared, the band had split and he hadn't seen any of their miserable faces ever since. He recalled sitting alone in Kong, watching the shadows of the undead cast vividly against his window, and downing the rest of his remaining liquor in the process. He needed to get rid of Kong and he needed to do it fast. Thus, in his drunken delirium, he'd reached for his lighter and eyed from his view of the garage a contained barrel of gasoline. As he watched the studio building burn down before his very eyes, Murdoc sipped the rest of bottled rum he'd salvaged from the burning rubble. He stared glossy-eyed at his home, listened to the cries of zombies as they once again experienced the unusual tragedy of death. All the years he had spent within the confines of the recording studios, all the memories... it smoldered away from him before his very eyes. Kong Studios sunk downwards into the earth, turning into ash and soot. He couldn't help remembering the time years ago when he had first laid eyes on the haunted, run-down building. He had made it as glorious as it was, a proper residence for a proper band. He had taken his last swig of his liquor and, with an intoxicated sway, gave the dying studio a final and admirable salute. Kong Studios, it didn't even stand a chance.

But with Noodle's whereabouts a mystery to him, Murdoc had been left in attempts to pick up the shattered pieces that had once been Gorillaz. However, Murdoc had not only just been left without a guitar player. Russel Hobbs, his rather fantastic drummer, had not shown his face since he had split from Kong Studios all those years ago. He had left the place in an absolute fury, lugging a small suitcase and sporting a slightly shaggy beard that had made him appear both significantly deranged and outrageously mental. He'd been solemn for weeks, announcing that he could no longer take the absence of Noodle, or the sight of a miserable 2D. Then, after appearing as if he were about to completely loose it, he had stepped out of the door and vanished into the night. The large, prodigal drummer had not been seen by the bassist ever since.

2D, however, had been a considerably different situation altogether. However, Russel had been right about the boy; once Noodle had vanished, 2D had barely made himself visible around the house. He rarely ate and more commonly consumed his pain-killers rather than anything of actual substance. Overdosed during most of the day, he had rarely attempted any sort of communication, even towards Russel. The singer had slept most of the time, though Murdoc was certain he had seen him wandering past midnight, joint in hand, staring in a daze up at the black sky above him as if he were looking for something. 2D had left exactly one month after Russel had. Without Russel to protect him from Murdoc, whose quota of patience had reached its high point, 2D had become the sole target of Murdoc's constant mood swings. But he stayed behind, stating during the moments when he did speak, that he was waiting for Noodle. He did not want her to come home to an empty house. Yet, the blue-haired boy seemed unable to take the continual days of utter disappointment. He hadn't made an announcement of his departure like the drummer had, though one day Murdoc had found that his bedroom had been packed, emptied, and cleared out.

Thus, the Satanist stood alone. Dumbfounded and pissed off in his empty mansion, he had to think of a plan, and he had to think of one fast. But because Murdoc Niccals was not the type to give up easily. Sure, he'd been left alone and band-less, but that certainly was not going to stop him. So, he quickly put his plan of action into existence. He wandered the El Manana crash sight and found scraps of his young guitarist's hair to collect and reassemble. He had put together an exact replica of the girl, even considered her appearance and growth, and created the Android. And she was perfect. The robotic version of his original guitarist was just as skilled in music skills and, to make matters better, she was half the trouble of a real girl, anyways.

Murdoc, still seated at watch over his falsified island, allowed a broad smile to slip across his green visage. He remembered lugging the powered-down Android to the island, watching her with a grin as she assisted him in cleaning up the place. A drummer was not necessary for his new album- at least, not a real drummer. Just as easily as Noodle had been replaced, Russel Hobbs was only just next in line. However, it was only his moron of a singer that would be far too hard to supplement. Besides, the Gorillaz had come way to far to simply just replace the vocals at this point. So, to soothe the setback, Murdoc set out a spy to find the location of the brain-dead talent. After two months he had the singer located. Turns out, he was living in a flat in Beirut, alone, sad, and ever so vulnerable. This had brought a rather gleeful smile to Murdoc's face, thus reigniting his hope in himself, and he'd picked up the phone feeling giddy, even. With a newfound and overwhelming sense of ambition, he had listened the the line ring several times before hearing the voice of the dullard on the other end.

"...Hullo?" said the singer all time ago. Even from the mere sound of his voice, Murdoc could tell that something was missing about his previous personality. Murdoc stalled for a moment and 2D sniffed slightly before Murdoc heard the slight thud of what he had considered his back to have hit the wall.

Though it had been years, Murdoc could still remember the conversation he'd had with the solemn young man. That day he had been sitting at the edge of the pier, despite the storm that had been circling him overhead. The beach, he recalled, was a putrid mess of discarded plastic and non-recycled waste. "'S been a while..." Murdoc had said over the crack of thunder. The sky ahead had been threatening a downpour, though nothing had yet arrived.

The voice on the other end stalled. Murdoc could almost sense the boy's bewilderment as he searched his empty head. He heard the staggering shake that had laced his breath. Nonetheless, the singer had leaned closer to the phone and whispered, "M-M... Murdoc?"

"Aye, mate!" Murdoc had responded, falling back onto his back. He had been the only visitor at the pier; everyone else had noticed the storm and had made their swift exists. However, Murdoc had never been one to flee from any sort of storm. "'Ow've you been?" the bassist asked the singer, still listening to his uneasy breathing at the opposite end of the phone line. Far up ahead of him, the clouds churned angrily.

"... 'Ow did you g' my number?" 2D inquired, but Murdoc let the question pass unanswered. Certainly he wasn't about to reveal to him that he had had him stalked for several weeks in order to be able to call him up in the first place. He had wanted to charm and excite the boy, not scare him to death. Besides, despite the hate that the bassist still had for the singer, he had needed him for the album. His agreement was vital and Murdoc wouldn't take no for an answer.

Thus, he put on a falsely friendly attitude, smiling even as he stared up at the storm from the other line. "Not important, 2D, not important. Eh, listen... I've got a proposition for you tha' I think you are goin' t' love." There was a slight onset of hesitation from the singer on the other side of the phone, but Murdoc cut him off hastily. He inhaled and spoke with a fast-paced tone of voice, interrupting 2D without a second thought. "Wot d' you think abo' world domination? Three outstandin' masterpieces?" With his back against the boardwalk, Murdoc could tell that 2D was not exactly paying him much attention. He heard the slide of the boy as he slumped to the ground and could almost feel the uneasy anxiety that he knew had been creeping up on the singer mercilessly. However, he chose to ignore the boy's misery. Instead, he had then added gallantly, "'D, wot d' you think about dying a legend?"

2D's silence had told Murdoc everything that he had needed to know. For a moment he stopped, waiting to hear that he boy would respond. But when he did not say a word, Murdoc sat up, hunched over crookedly. 2D moaned and, on the floor of his flat, he had begun to run his free hand through his head of blue hair. He chewed achingly on his bottom lip. "Murdoc," he choked out, feeling the same swell of returning misery wash back to him. It had taken him years, and still he had not gotten over everything that had happened with the band. Still, he had not forgotten Noodle. "W-Wot are you t-talking about?"

"Album number three, mate!" Murdoc drawled, perking up with enthusiasm. "We could still be great! We could come back from the dead!" Murdoc flashed his teeth. "Wot d' ya say?"

There had been a meek little sob and then 2D said sadly, "... I can't."

"Wot." Murdoc's previous confidence had faltered. His smile had vanished. The first drop of rain finally hit him square in the middle of his forehead and dribbled down the front of his wonky-looking face. Curious, he glanced back up at the sky as the shake of thunder made him flicker. "Yah can't wot?"

"I can't go back, Murdoc," 2D moaned, sniffling. "I can't do it again. I... I-I h-haven't seen Russ in... in years and..." there was a distinct pause. 2D had felt as if something had physically stopped him from continuing on in his sentence. But he could not possibly finish. Even Murdoc could sense his sadness. He heard the boy choke and then sob, scratching his head of hair as a nervous habit. With his back still pressed up against the wall, 2D rubbed at his eyes.

Murdoc shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to ask aloud the obvious, but he had remembered doing it anyway. "And wot?"

Yet the bass player's persistence had only backfired. If 2D had been before trying to stifle his sobs, Murdoc's inquiry had pushed him over the edge. He inhaled massively and then Murdoc Niccals heard him crack. He listened to the clatter of the phone as it hit the ground, and heard the soft breaths of the damaged singer. Though he had not seen 2D in years, Murdoc wondered for a split second what sort of life his singer had been living over the time. He waited for a moment and let the boy cry as he rolled his eyes. He should have expected such a pathetic reaction from the empty-headed singer in the first place. He wondered why he would have even expected something different. 2D had always been rather easy to sway- mainly because he had not a clue as to what was really going on around him. Though, this time, however, 2D seemed to have understood one thing and one thing only. Noodle was gone, and that had been all he'd cared about.

Still, Murdoc crossed his arms across his chest, reaching into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve his cigarettes. He pulled out one half-yellow stick, struck it between his open lips, and lit the thing as he waited. But when 2D did not stop sobbing, his patience began to wear thin. He did not have time to baby the singer into manhood- besides, such a feat would be almost impossible, anyways. However still, he overlooked the man's obvious misery. Instead, he said impatiently, "wot do you say?"

"No," 2D had said without hesitation.

"Wot d' ya mean 'no'?"

"I mean 'no'," 2D sniffed, and Murdoc heard the boy as he wiped his nose. 2D choked out his words forcefully and a hint of bitterness was detectable behind his sorry tone of voice.

Murdoc had unwillingly become cross. The previous cool that he had managed to obtain had left him within the instant. "Listen 'ere, you stupid sodding pygmy-boy, no one says '_no' _to fucking Murdoc Niccals!" He lifted himself off of the pier, stumbled up into a stance and screamed wildly into the receiver. The rain ahead had begun to plummet down on him, soaking him in his black turtleneck and his considerably old trousers. His shoes were becoming soaking wet, and his black mop-top haircut was sticking intensely to his face.

On the other end, 2D moaned, "d-don't call me anymore, o-okay, Muds." Even as miserable as he was, 2D had still had a hard time sounding assertive.

"You fucking prick!" Murdoc roared, holding the phone close to his face as he spat into the speakers. He heard the shuffle of the singer's feet and he called out hotly, "don't you _dare _hand up on me, yah fucking-"

But the phone went dead. He heard the beep of the disconnected call before he could even finish his own sentence. And then, alone on the end of the local pier in the pouring rain, Murdoc Niccals stood fuming. He tore himself away, cursing loudly at the top of his lungs, still pissed off at the storm and the singer and his two other band mates for leaving him in the first place. In a furious mess, he marched home, slammed the door to his own rugged flat and closed himself in the depths of his bedroom. For days he sat in solitude, contemplating his setback. But, as usual, an idea had managed to come to him with ease. Nonetheless, Murdoc Niccals usually managed to get whatever it was that he had wanted one way or another...

Still, nonetheless, capturing 2D had been unsurprisingly easy. Gassing the boy had been, quite frankly, a brilliant touch. The Boogieman he had found through communication with the constant demons that he had running through his condo, and the cloaked figure had proved to be a load of help to say the least. Thus, Murdoc had the shade stuff the unconscious 2D in a suitcase and send him on his way. Then, two weeks later, there it was. Sure, the suitcase had been a little banged up and the moans of the sleeping singer's nightmares had made the situation a little more sppoky, but Murdoc truly could not have been more happy. He'd had the Android Noodle drag the drugged out singer down to his special underwater bedroom and he himself had celebrated with a six-pack of beer.

When he finally heard 2D's screaming from the underwater room below him, a smile ignited the likes of Murdoc's ready face. He'd left the porthole window open, fully aware of the whale's presence at the other end of it. For laughs, he listened to 2D's hyperventilation for a good two hours before making himself present. Thus, he'd dressed himself in his nice white turtleneck and matching white trousers, placed his yacht hat upon his scruffy black head of hair, and strolled over to the lift. He unlocked the lock at 2D's bedroom casually and stepped through the door with a calm expression. However, when he found 2D curled up in the corner, he put on a mockingly false and perplexed expression. "Wot?" he asked, stooping down to 2D's huddled level, "ya don't like ya new room?"

The boy had looked even more drugged out than Murdoc had previously expected. A trail of dried saliva had stained his pale face and the look about his vacant eyes had made him appear hazy and unaware. However, 2D glanced back up, watching Murdoc approach him slowly. He blinked, almost unsure as to whether or not he had been dreaming, and sobbed so that his throat was dry and harsh on impact. Yet Murdoc neared the crying boy, extending his fingers out and pinching his sloppy, wet chin. "I put a lot o' thought inta' it, 2D. Tha's not very polite o' you..."

2D's eyes scanned the place. When his focus found Murdoc again, he sobbed even harder. However, his lolling head found his knees and he buried himself within them forcefully. His hands crawled up to his head, pulling at his hair before slackening limply and hugging his torso instead. Finally, he asked wetly, "where am i?"

To which Murdoc cheerfully responded, "the middle of nowhere, mate."

The azure haired man shook his head, still pressing his forehead to his knees. He said sloppily, "I... I w-wos in B-Beirut."

"You _were_ in Beirut, mate." Murdoc clarified, glancing back towards the window porthole; for the moment, the watching whale had disappeared. He looked back over at 2D and made a quick grab towards his blue hair. When he'd pulled the singer's face back upwards, he couldn't help but chuckle. Stu Pot was still feeling the drugs that he had been given. As hazy and delirious that he was, he could hardly even manage to keep the drool from running out of his mouth. However, his aware mind had been notably racing. His black eyes darted back and forth around the room and he seemed to understand only that he was no longer at his Beirut flat anymore. "Alright, 2D," Murdoc directed, "_up."_

With a steady hand, he hoisted the havering 2D into the air and pulled him to his feet. The man's waif-like chest heaved and he looked as if he were about to pass out at any given moment. "Remember 'ow I said I want t' make a third album?" Murdoc asked the boy, tilting his head and slapping 2D's cheek to make him look back over at him. "Hm?" 2D's silence said everything, however. The singer's eyes widened slightly and he did another double-take, scanning the room with an entirely new outlook. His chest heaved up and down quickly. "Wot'd I tell ya, mate?" Murdoc added, cheekily.

2D's delirium had taken an abrupt turn for the worse. He broke down completely, though Murdoc had caught him instantly before he fell backwards and lost his balance. Through his tears, he reached out, attempting a swing at Murdoc, though missed by miles. Instead, Murdoc once again made a lean towards him, grabbing him by his hair and forcing him towards the wall. He slammed the skinny singer's body up against the bedroom wall and twisted his arms back around behind him. Murdoc's grimy hands made their way to 2D's hair and he yanked his head back, causing 2D to cry out hoarsely. "Now ya can't go and do thing like tha'!" Murdoc hissed before regaining himself. Just as quickly as he had snapped, he pulled the whimpering 2D away from the wall and reached behind himself towards the handy towel he had placed at the singer's new study for the possibility of such a situation.

The blue haired man swayed, catching Murdoc as he reached casually towards the towel and chloroform bottle. However, he was far too late to react. The green skinned bass player reached back around 2D, looping one hand behind his heavy head and positioning the towel his nose and mouth with harsh force. "Relax, 'D," Murdoc drawled, watching the singer's chest heave upwards. He forced the man's thin hands back down as he reached up to pry Murdoc back off of him. "I'll talk t' ya abo' all this later, hm?"

2D's knees locked and he had fallen forward against Murdoc's chest, still fighting to keep his eyes open in the process. "Besides," he said as he heard the robotic crunch of the Android Noodle behind him, "we've go' a whole album to record and there's some people I wan' ya t' meet, ya know?" And when 2D had finally gone completely limp, Murdoc's grip on him slackened completely. He let the man drop in a heap on the carpeted floor and had reached the toe of his boot over to lift up the side of his fallen face. "Tosser," he had hissed and, with that, exited the underwater room before locking it up and returning back to his previous work.

Still, despite the singer's initial resistance, Murdoc was able to get him to sing for the album. Sure, 2D had been absolutely furious when he had first laid eyes on the Android Noodle. But the robot could be very persuasive. Murdoc's creation had been an extreme help when trying to get 2D to sing his parts on the album, too. All she'd had to do was open her mouth and produce the handy gun that Murdoc had placed in her design. Thinking back, Murdoc can remember the horrified look of panic on 2D's face at the microphone in the recording room as Cyborg Noodle held her gun up to his head the entire time. Still, it had worked out nonetheless.

To say that he was proud of himself would have been an understatement. He, Murdoc Niccals, fucking _adored _himself for his brilliance.

And now, even more years later, he'd had all that he'd needed. The album had been released, a single had gone out. His masterpiece had been critically acclaimed all around the world and he'd obtained some of the universe's best talent to collaborate with him on his magnificent track list. He had done absolutely everything that he had set out to accomplish. Now all he'd had to do was sit out and wait. As he leaned his head back and took a swig of his liquor, Murdoc Niccals mused silently to himself, "ah, this is the life."

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**Psychic City: **Please, let me know what you think!


	2. Of Trust and Naivety

**Psychic City: **I've got to make a warning in this chapter for 'drug' use, despite the fact that cannabis grows from the ground. Still, I'm certain you all know, as Gorillaz fans, that most of their songs are about weed anyway. So, hopefully no one will be too sensitive to it, right? Apologies to anyone in the meantime, of course!

A big, big thanks to: **Va Vonne, Lively McBrighten, MCLanna, LE Candeh, Wordwrytha, maura, Candycraver, sawah 3, DeimosPhobos, swan-scones, **and **Coco**! You've all motivated me to continue with writing this. Thank you so much, again!

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**Chapter Two:**  
**Of Trust and Naivety**

September 13, 1998

_Back when he was young, and naive, and freshly out of a coma, Stuart Pot actually believed everything Murdoc Niccals had to say. _

_From the first time he had spotted Murdoc, standing over him as he lie in a battered heap at the surface of a car park pave way, 2D had trusted him. The face of the green-skinned bassist was the first one he had seen in a year, and he had recognized the rough sounding vocals that the man emitted before him. When Murdoc lifted Stu Pot's bloody chin upwards with the base of his foot and proclaimed, "well, fuck me runnin' he's awake!", 2D was certain that the man had saved his life. As a medically proclaimed vegetable, Stu Pot had been living a life of darkness for three-hundred and sixty four persisting days. He hadn't seen his mother and he hadn't been to work. Instead, he'd found himself an entire year older, stubbily unshaved, and seemingly missing both of his eyes. He had instantly broken down into tears, clutching the surface of his stomach and struggling to even lift himself off of the blacktop. However, Murdoc had bent down and heaved him up without a problem, allowing him to lean along his shoulder like a crooked support. _

_He hadn't even objected when he felt himself being lifted, despite his obvious weakness, and dragged back towards the fuming Vaxuall Astra. As the immense onset of undeniable pain crept up all around his aching body, he remembered instantly hearing the man rev up the motor to his car after piling him into the passenger seat. Thus, as the small bouts of rain trickled down from the churning clouds above. When Murdoc Niccals wasn't sure he could standing hearing 2D sob in the seat next to him, he had leaned over and said, "calm down! It's goin' t' be alright for fuck's sake!" And 2D had believed him._

_When the bass player drove the young vocalist all the way back to his rusted condo, Stu had himself convinced; no matter what the rest of the world had to say about Murdoc Niccals, the singer would always know the truth. Sure the man had been a convicted felon, had stolen from the purses of numerous females, and religiously worshiped Satan, but he had allowed Stu to live. He had brought him back to his mother, his family, and his life. No longer had he been trapped behind the veils of haziness and uncertainty, no longer could he only listen helpless as the world revolved around him continuously. Without Murdoc Niccals, Stu Pot knew that he would be nothing more than a bag of useless cement for the rest of his pathetic life. _

_Poruing excessive amounts of blood, Stu had stumbled through the small house to the bathroom where he had been led. He did not question as to why he had not been dropped off at a hospital. Instead, he permitted himself to be projected towards the toilet seat, ignoring the fact that the man had forced him away from the mirror on purpose. The older man had flipped the seat down and directed Stu Pot on the top of it. He'd leaned over into his medicine cabinet, produced a bottle of 2D's very own pills, and piled them into his flattened hand. "Open up," he'd instructed._

_"Wot?" Stu had inquired, though he hadn't had much time to stutter out anything further. As if he had done it on numerous occasions, Murdoc surged forward and pried Stu's mouth open, dispensing the pills between his lips with a forceful hand. Then, returning back to the medicine cabinet, he reached for a second bottle of rum, as if he had kept it there for such emergency occasions. Shaking, Stu had obligingly downed the liquor before feeling the numbness of the painkillers take affect. Then, with sloppy force, he lulled forward and collided with Murdoc's darkly covered chest._

_It had been perhaps the most drugged and dazed the boy had ever been in his entire life. At that moment he could see the world spin around him, could even feel the trickle of seat and blood as it passed out through his wounded skin. The sound of Murdoc's voice came through to his ears like a slow moving fountain of flying spit. When he guided the newly limp Stu Pot to the tiled floor again, he helped him sit up against the bathroom walls and, in turn, stole several of the boy's pills for himself with a heart-felt wink. "So, Stu-Pot," drawled the man, waiting for the boy to glance up. Stu recalled not being able to cry anymore. Instead, he gazed around the room as if he were only dreaming. With his bleeding eyes locked into Murdoc, Stu looked as if he were going to be sick. "You play the keyboard?"_

_He had asked as if he had already known the answer, though despite Stu's overdose, the boy managed to hear Murdoc's inquiry. Though he did not bother to lift his numb arm to wipe the dripping drool from his chin, he instead pressed his eyes shut and nodded through the upcoming bile. _

_"Perfect!" exclaimed the bassist, clapping his hands together. He had seemed so unaffected by the pills and alcohol, as if he hadn't even taken the two in the first place. However, he did not stop pressing the crippled Stu. Instead, he merely persisted with the subject, seemingly unconcerned by the drug-induced affect that Stu Pot had been suffering through. "... I saw a video of you singin', too, mate," he concluded, faltering towards Stu and mockingly messing up his head of blue hair in a false attempt to be friendly. When Stu gave him a curious look, Murdoc clarified sloppily, "you were on a tape your mum made, mate."_

_Stu blinked, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Still, Murdoc clamped a hand on his back. He did not seem to realize that he had just pulled the man from the pavement, did not seem to care that his face was practically falling off. Instead, he had much more important things on his mind. "Still think ya' go' those pipes in ya?" he asked, still, adjusting himself so that he rest on the tile on his knees in front of Stu. He wore an unexplainable expression on his mug, watching Stu Pot with a glisten of hope, as if he'd been waiting for someone as talented as Stu for quite some time._

_The boy's head felt heavy on his shoulders. He moaned solemnly and felt the sob taint his heavy chest. "Ah, ah, ah," tutted Murdoc, pinching his chin back up and narrowing the boy's slipping focus back in his direction. He allowed Stu's eyes to readjust. "Focus, Stu-Pot, focus..." Stu stifled his own sobs, biting hard down at his lower lip so that he literally drew blood. "Stu... do ya still think tha' you're still any good a' singing?"_

_"I..." breathed Stu._

_"Perfect!" cried Murdoc, and he lunged back towards Stu, hoisting him up to his feet and whisking him out the bathroom door without a second thought. He fixed his havering torso in the middle of the shag carpet in his living room and stood back, watching Stu struggle to keep a steady composure. Yet the room was spinning and Stu could hardly see the image of Murdoc standing before him anymore. Instead, the man appeared to be nothing more than a black figure, a shadow before him with an excited and overwhelming voice. He had felt himself slip, though remembered feeling grateful that he was safe in Murdoc's watchful presence. "Alright, Stu-Pot, let's 'ear it."_

_There, standing before Stu Pot, was the very man who had given him his life back. He glanced at the newly twenty year old, eyeing him up and down with a slightly bitter expression. He seemed to finally notice the uneasiness that had pegged the boy before him. "For fuck's sake," he drawled, sloping his shoulders and dropping his expression. "I only gave ya two..."  
_

_Stu Pot couldn't even feel his long limbs at the end of his uneasy torso. He couldn't feel his fingers at the end of his clammy hands. He recalled the creeping feeling of trickling numbness as it swept up his body like an unwanted invasion. Though even as he felt his consciousness falter, he couldn't help but feel unworried. As he finally felt himself loose his awareness, he relished in the fact that Murdoc Niccals, his very own savior, would be watching over him._

_But Stu Pot was stupid, and drugged, and gullible. Back then, he would have believed anything._

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Present Day, 2010

2D opened his eyes and ignored the fact that they stung at the sight of the blistering sun before him. He had still felt the surge of nausea that ached through him from the chloroform that Murdoc had put him to sleep with earlier. Sleep by force of chloroform or syringe needle had become the regular for 2D and, though the Satanist had implied that there was nothing to worry about, 2D didn't believe him anyway.

He'd been lying on the shore of the beach, his bare feet in the sand and a hand rolled cigarette between his lips. He hated it there on the Plastic Beach, stuck in the middle of all the unnecessary rubble. He hated the way the lighthouse cast its white beam across the ocean that contained nothing but water and whales. He hated the falsely magnificent way that the shore look divine. He hated the foggy weather, the room he'd been kept in underwater, and the emptiness that he had felt so heavily in his aching sternum. Yet, above everything else, he hated the man upstairs- the captain who had been running the show from the very beginning. Murdoc Faust Niccals, the thought of the very man made 2D's blood run ice cold.

The miserable vocalist had been kept prisoner upon the island for what had seemed like an eternity. However, 2D had not kept track of time; and he couldn't even if he tried. For days he'd been kept in his underwater cell, watching the days fly by without much awareness towards the hour or the moment. He'd spent his life as a drugged and dazed being, wearily wandering around his room. He listened to the free footsteps of Murdoc Niccals from above him as he lie on the floor, hallucinating that the walls were almost literally closing in on him. And only when an ample amount of days or weeks had passed, Murdoc would make his appearance, permitting 2D to leave the room with the Cyborg Noodle as his escort.

And if there was one other thing that 2D hated about Plastic Beach, it was undoubtedly the robotic guitarist. He loathed her with every ounce of his being. She was nothing more than the reminder of everything that he no longer had, and he wanted to cry at the sight of her. But she was unforgiving, merciless, and harsh. She watched over 2D without sympathy, following only the orders of the man who had put her together in the first place. If she'd noticed the singer make one wrong move, she was on him within the instant. And when Murdoc saw that 2D be returned back to the room under all that water, she was more than happy to oblige.

But most of all she reminded him of the real Noodle. The missing girl had haunted 2D's foggy memory ever since she'd left. Not a single day went by where he didn't think about her. He suffered sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling from behind the study where he could avoid the whale, thinking about Noodle and every moment he had ever spent with her. With a slightly joyful laugh, he remembered the moment when the young guitarist, then only eight, had taught him origami; hers was perfect, while his model was utterly terrible. He could feel himself grow instinctively protective at the memory of her running into his room at night, scared by the zombie movies he had let her watch during the evening. And still, when he thought of his little Noodle falling from the edge of the floating Windmill Island all those years ago, he couldn't help but loose himself completely.

Thus, as he lie out in the sun in the midst of all that rubble, he wasn't even aware of the tears that begun to flow down his face.

A miserable moan sounded out from ahead of him and 2D felt the sharp ping of something rough as it struck his bruised shoulder. "Ya still blubberin' down 'ere, eh?"

2D's eyes slipped open and he cocked his chin slightly upwards. For a second he considered the weary figure that stood upward before him. There stood Murdoc Niccals, beer bottle in hand, joint in the other. He waved the paper-rolled thing around purposefully, making 2D crave one with every passing moment that he was denied access to it. However, he figured that Murdoc would deny him anything of the sort, anyways. In fact, 2D wasn't really sure when the last time it was that he had been given anything that had made him happy.

Thus, 2D turned his head, slipping back upwards into a seated position and away from Murdoc entirely. Instead he hugged his knees, chewing on his lower lip as he watched the unchanging tides before him. The morning sky twirled ahead of him relentlessly and the onset of the day seemed like only a burden on 2D's shoulders. He did not respond back to the Satanist, but instead took his attention to only the vast world before him, forever expanding without a purpose...

"Ay, 'D... 'D, listen t' me, hm?" Murdoc pressed himself forward, moving towards the singer and placing his own body up against the lingering trunk of a nearby palm tree. He took a swing of his liquor and said with a slightly bitter tone of voice, "ya gonna be mad at me foreva?"

"I don' want t' tok t' you, Murdoc," coughed 2D, still fighting the urge to swivel around and clock the bass player in the nose. Of course, because 2D could not even imagine himself pulling such a risky act, he stayed rooted to the sandy shore. Without anything to smoke or drink, he buried his chin in the depths of his knees even further. Blinking his matching black void eyes out into the ocean, he ignored Murdoc as he stifled a chuck of a rather sarcastic nature.

"Yeah, woll," he mused, stretching out a bit, "yuv go' 'owever you wish t' spend your time out 'ere." He sniffled and then took another drag. "'S up t' you."

2D pressed his eyes shut, willing the man away with the force of his blackened vision. He knew what Murdoc meant well, though he did not bother to press the subject. However, Murdoc had allowed him to stay outside of his underwater cell for quite some time on the specific evening and, though the singer had no true concept of real time anymore, he'd guessed that he'd been outside for somewhere around two straight hours. He held his breath, hoping to not further press the issue or make the situation even worse on himself. Yet he still couldn't help the writhing feeling that he sense within his heavy sternum. Every single thought of the man before him... it all led him back to Noodle.

There was a slight shuffling and, despite 2D's shut eyes, Murdoc's body slipped down to the singer's level. He positioned himself back up against the slanted palm tree and took to mimicking his mate's statuesque manner. Instead, however, he let his legs dangle out loosely before him and, before 2D could pull his eyelids open, he dismissed the patrolling Cybord with a flick of his wrist. "'Ere, you fuckin' tossa," he mumbled, flicking out the joint in his vocalist's miserable direction.

Peering over at the thing in Murdoc's elongated fingernails, 2D squinted down with a trial-like uncertainty. "Wot's tha'?" he asked, befuddled that Murdoc would even make such a generous gesture in the first place.

Yet Murdoc only shrugged his shoulders, swinging his beer bottle around with heart-felt sincerity. "A little 'sunshine in a bag', ol' Two Dents, wot d' ya think?"

2D didn't move. Instead, he only allowed his eyes to glance down at the thing before locking back into Murdoc. His suspicion still lasted. Without slipping away from his huddled position on the shore, he seemed weary and solemn, despite the offer in general. In a tone of voice that was almost unbearably miserable, he asked, "why are you givin' this t' me?"

Murdoc Niccals tossed his head to one side so that his greasy black hair flopped over his rugged, aged face. "Take it, brainache, you're goin' t' be needin' it..."

"Why?" 2D dared to press, but Murdoc only lifted his eyebrows, as if the answer were almost particularly obvious. For a split second, the singer searched his mind. Then, realization what the bassist was talking about, 2D hastily grabbed for the joint and sucked on the tip of it so hard that his eyes swelled up with captivated water within the direct moment.

Tickled, Murdoc fixed his head into a more proper position on his neck, squaring himself away with his shoulders. A large beam spread across his face and he did not reach back for it when 2D had finished. Instead, he congratulated him with intense earnest. Extending a long arm to pat 2D's arched back, Murdoc said vibrantly, "looks like ya' still got it in ya..."

The solemn singer moaned, feeling the effect of the plant in his chest. Despite the numbing and elevating sense that he had once throughly enjoyed, it did not help him forget his Little Love. His face crunched up, despite Murdoc's questionably friendly banter, and he slumped forward, pressing his sweaty forehead into his knees and shielding his face from view entirely.

Murdoc's face twisted. He plucked the joint up from 2D's fingers and took a second hit before placing it back between the blue haired man's again. "You're goin' t' have t' brighten up soona or lata', 'D," Murdoc warned, though his tone of voice sounded very much like a threat. "Ya can't be doin' interviews lookin' all miserable, eh."

Yet the singer shook his head back and forther swiftly against the surface of his trousers. "'M not doin' inta-views," he sulked.

"The 'ell you're not doin' interviews!" Murdoc scoffed and then, as if to further convince his singer otherwise, he slipped back down to what could have been considered perhaps a more relatable tone. Soft and much more gently, Murdoc pressed his head on his knees and offered the younger man a more sincere expression. "'Ow do ya think it'd look if Gorillaz was missin' their singer?"

2D felt a sob rise in his throat, but the notion of its presence embarrassed him. He had always been a bit sensitive, but ever since he had found himself on the shores of Plastic Beach, his emotions had gone through the roof. Everything reminded him of the two band mates that he had lost. Everything had reminded him of a failed promise and, of course, a broken trust. "Wot about a missin' drummer or a missing guitarist?" he quipped, though his sad undertones were immediately recognizable.

Murdoc, on the other hand, had seemed rather able to keep himself in check. He had not shown to 2D a single ounce of sympathy for his missing mates. At first the singer had presumed the bassist was merely just holding himself back, yet now he was more convinced of the man's unbreakable facade. "'Ave some rum, 'D," Murdoc Niccals drawled, thrusting the liquor back in towards 2D's direction and almost causing the smoldering joint to fumble from his calloused fingertips. "Oy!" he said still, in response to the accident that almost was, "watch it, there..."

"I don't want any..." 2D mumbled, still refusing to look up from the ground. Instead, he sniffled and, for a slight second, took advantage of the thing in his fingertips. Submissively, he took another puff of it and then ran his clammy hands through his hair. His sullen face scanned the morning horizon and he flinched as Murdoc sighed impatiently.

The two men sat, still staring at the scene out ahead of them with two very different outlooks on it. 2D's perspective was obvious, even to the man at his right. Analytically, Murdoc's eyes grazed back over the boy, taking in his misery as something that was, perhaps, expected. Many months ago when he had first kidnapped 2D, he had done so with the goal of having him sing for the album as well as to have a bit of fun with him. He hadn't, of course, considered the state that 2D would be in. Nonetheless, he only held a fraction of sympathy for him. Besides the fact that Murdoc Niccals never truly fancied the half-brained singer in the first place, he didn't see why the boy was being so selfish.

Murdoc ran his long tongue over his crooked and rotting teeth, considered the young man in general. Didn't 2D possess the ability to see the situation from Murdoc's point of view, as well? Sure 2D missed his friends, but he, Murdoc Niccals, was missing his fucking drummer and his guitarist. He'd had to make a robot to compensate. And, on top of all that, a large, floating, plastic getaway. Sure, 2D may have some personal problems, but at least he did not have to physically suffer because of them. Let alone partake in actual _labor_.

Thus, Murdoc paid 2D as little attention as possible. He needed him to sing and he needed him to interview. Besides, after all the hard work that Murdoc had put into the creation of the third album, why _couldn't_ he possess the right to rough 2D up a little bit? Fuck, if only the singer weren't so much of a fucking drag.

"Alright, look," Murdoc grumbled after a while of pointless silence. "I really don't give a fuck about wha'ever... err... personal issue ya 'ave goin' on, 'D, but you betta square yourself out, hm?" 2D's silence made Murdoc grind his teeth so roughly that he was certain the caps on them gave a little crack. He lunged forward, grabbed Stu Pot's stoney looking face and pinched his chin between his grimy fingers with such force that the man gave a wince of true pain before freezing with fear. "You're _goin'_ t' brighten up and sound as righ' as rain during the course a' whatever interview we 'ave next, savvy?"

"I..."

"I don't care if you've downed 'alf o' your bloody painkillers and its two in the morning," Murdoc growled, his eyes flashing. Swiftly, he plucked the joint from 2D's fingers and trust it into the remaining plastic rubble before the two of them. "Is that clear?" 2D bobbed his head up and down without hesitation. He felt his own heavy skull lull on his shoulders. Murdoc's grip, however, slunk down onto the the base of the vocalist's forearm. His free green hand lifted to 2D's face and he patted it supportively. "Tha's a good lad," he exclaimed, smiling once again.

2D mumbled a response of misery, but Murdoc's smile only shimmered falsely in response. Then, he dove his hand back down into the base of his own trousers. When 2D's eyes refocused themselves, he saw that he was staring face-to-face with the tip of a sparkling silver syringe needle. "Ah'll let you sleep on it," Murdoc concluded and, with that, he plunged the thing into the singer's neck watching him sway before flopping back down into the sand, receiving a face full of the trash on impact.

Yet with a weary sigh, Murdoc allowed the singer's limp body to fold out tiredly before him. He made no motion to tend to 2D; instead, he merely lifted his hand and snapped towards the back of the beach. The shadow of the mechanical Cyborg Noodle jumped into position. She'd seemed to notice Murdoc's calling and, without hesitation, she lifted one of her heavy metal feet. Robotically, she carried on until she was in front of the bassist, her hands stiff and still at her side to wait for further instruction. Her eyes swiveled around the island until they locked into Murdoc's.

She watched him lower his hand an jerk his thumb at the unconscious singer and the Cyborg's eyes followed his fingers down. She recognized the sleeping figure as Stu Pot, the vocalist of her master's famous band. She'd been ordered to dispose, drug, and haul the man around for months. Thus, when Murdoc did not utter a single word to her, she instantly knew what he'd desired anyway. "And keep the door locked," Murdoc murmured, downing the very last bit of his liquor and tossing it over his shoulder.

The Cyborg dropped down, slipping her chilly hands around the collar of 2D's shirt and then readjusting herself to find his slender wrist. Once she'd had a steady hold of the sweaty thing, she marched opposite Murdoc, back towards the white house that he had made all on his own. From behind her, Murdoc took to his feet. He watched the Cyborg version of his teenage guitarist drag his drugged out singer back towards the building, where she'd push him in the lift and discard him in his room underwater- not, however, before opening the blinds to the porthole window that showed to him all the inhabitants of the deep blue.

He wiped himself off with the palms of his hands, shedding off the sand that had tainted his trousers. Then, with a miserable sigh, he followed suit.

Yet something seemed... rather off.

In the distance he heard the sound of loud jazz music as clear and as crystal as day. It was merciless and existent, floating through the space before his head like a bothersome bug. Had the noise been there the whole time? If so, 2D certainly had not noticed it. And the Cyborg seemed to be rather deaf to the noise in general. Thus the Satanist spun around, drunkenly surveying the ocean with a cocked up eyebrow and an aged frown. The music continued to float through his hears.

Perhaps too much liquor, too much pot. Either way, Murdoc Niccals spun back around, ignoring the obvious soundtrack that played out before him. So, with a sniff of the soggy air around him, Murdoc turned away from the shore and strode with an intoxicated limp away from the shoreline completely.

* * *

**Psychic City: **I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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